


Deaths

by Korpuskat



Category: Halloween (2018), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Everything is consensual, Michael just bein creepy deserves its own tag, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, PWP, Sex-Neutral Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 13:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: Michael compares the kinds of death he brings. You don’t mind.(Sex and gender neutral reader insert).
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	Deaths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harlequince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequince/gifts).

> So anyway im like, “im 20k into NaNo, why not expend 400 words to write about Michael Myers fucking you comatose?”

He moves in you, holds you down, and considers his options. You’re whimpering and whining, squirming under him, even crying when he takes it slow. You’re so alive and vibrant, and yet when he wraps his hand around your throat and _fucks_ you- with hard, sharp snaps of his hips, not unlike his knife- he could kill you.

He does, in a way. You move, twisting like you’re fighting him, nails biting into his back, mouth dropping open to gasp around his hand at your throat. Your lips beginning to blue. When you tighten around him- and your eyes go out of focus and far off, the little scrap of noise that slips between his fingers, how each limb spasms just out of your control. And you go so, so quiet and still. 

He releases your neck- and creates new life. You suck in air, tremors riding down your spine. Your eyes roll and blink, trying to find consciousness again. Your pulse thrums under his thumb and he knows he controls you. Controls life and death itself.

It’s even better the second time. He hand finds its way between you and your cries rise an octave, a franticness to them that’s closer to what he expects. You writhe more, even if you aren’t actually fighting him yet. You will be.

Maybe that’s why he enjoys it- there’s only one death with a knife. He’s killed you more times than he can count. Sometimes he makes you keep count. But he keeps at it, driving into you, choking again- you scream this time. It’s a step in the right direction.

The bruises never get to form around his other victims necks- he likes the blue and purple shape of his hand on your throat. He moves again and you cry now, pleading with fast little words and it’s so familiar- he works you with one hand until you’re shaking- pushing at him- your tears running over his knuckles.

When he’s done you lie still under him. He could give you a real death. Would it be even better? Would you even notice the extra pressure around your windpipe- or would you welcome his touch again?

He touches your throat. The skin there is warm and raised. Your eyes flutter under your lashes- barely opening enough to see him through the haze in your mind. One arm raises, wobbling and loose- to find his hand. You touch him, fumblingly drag your fingers across his knuckles in something too soft to name.

The little deaths are enough this time.


End file.
